Free Trapped by Scandal by Jane Feather Page B

“It’s a celebration feast,” she offered hastily, reaching into the pocket of her apron for a handful of sous. “A new baby in the family.”
    The man said nothing, but he still looked suspicious. “You want ’em alive?”
    She shook her head hastily, and with swift efficiency, he wrung the necks of three scrawny birds, dropping the still- pulsating carcasses into her basket. To her relief, William took the basket from her as she paid the poulterer.
    Hero turned away. “What now?”
    â€œBread, cheese, vegetables,” her companion said in an undertone. “Try to remember the revolution started in thefirst place because people were starving and there was no flour for bread, let alone meat for the asking.”
    â€œI know,” she said in the same undertone, flushing a little, shocked at how easy it was to make a mistake. “But I’ve only ever shopped for hats and dress material before.”
    â€œJust keep your wits about you.”
    Hero watched her fellow housewives and copied them, poking and prodding vegetables, sniffing at cheeses, selecting carefully but frugally. Nevertheless, the old, familiar feeling of menace was back with her despite William’s presence. There were so many pitfalls just trying to pass unnoticed through the crowds, even though her peasant dress was indistinguishable.
    She was moving away from the back of a cart from which a woman with thick forearms and reddened hands was selling loaves of day-old bread when she felt it. Her scalp crawled as if an army of lice were nesting, and the hairs on her nape lifted.
    William was a few paces behind her as her step faltered and her eyes slid sideways. Her breath caught in her throat. William moved up beside her, not looking at her as he said under his breath, “What?”
    â€œOver there, in the doorway of that cobbler. The eyebrow.”
    William glanced once and said swiftly, “Take this.” He gave her the basket. “Now, walk through the market and take one of the side streets, any one. If you think you’re being followed, do not go back to the house. Lose him if you can; otherwise, just come back here.”
    â€œAnd do what?” Her heart was battering against her ribcage.
    â€œJust wait. Do you understand?”
    Mutely, Hero nodded and continued to stroll through the stalls, her eyes on a steep and narrow lane, more an alley than a street, that led out of the square and ran parallel with Rue St. André des Arts. Every inch of her skin seemed sensitized, but she didn’t dare stop to look behind her to see if she was being followed. On impulse, she moved sideways back into the melee of stalls and carts, pausing casually to examine a mound of cabbages. She glanced quickly behind her. The man with the eyebrow was nowhere to be seen.
    â€œFine cabbage, citoyenne. ” The seller held out a head for her inspection.
    She shook her head with an assumption of regret. “Non, merci, citoyen . ”
    He shrugged with resignation, and Hero moved on, glancing once more behind her. She couldn’t see the man with the eyebrow and moved with more resolution to the steep side street. It was quieter there, and if she was being followed, she’d have a better chance of seeing her pursuer. She toiled up the hill, changing the heavy basket from hand to hand. It gave her the perfect excuse to pause now and again, glance casually behind her, and listen closely for steps, a change in step, a pause, anything that would indicate a pursuer. But she could detect nothing.
    Halfway up, she took a side alley that would connect with Rue St. André des Arts. It was dark and narrow, overshadowed on both sides by shabby houses. Her heart waspounding again, her breath coming fast as she strained to hear, to sense if anyone was behind her. She knew she could not betray the house, however inadvertently. But she could detect nothing as she emerged onto her own street.
    She set